Not Yet
by HollowedSorrow
Summary: Chapter 1: Percival Graves went missing. Chapter 2: Percival Meets Newt and they talk over lunch.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, no one but, perhaps, the circumstances that happens in this story.

* * *

 **AN:** Guess who decided to finally watch the movie? Me. Anyhow, something that was supposed to be short but grew. I also have another chapter in mind for this but, ah. I need to get farther with IART before writing anything because spoilers for that fic.

 **AN:** I'm also not every descriptive when it comes to the characters, their actions, for the most part, are but their appearance? Not really. It seems misplaced in what I'm writing, so the best anyone can get from me are: beautiful, attractive and appealing. I'm sure there are more examples on other things I've written. I tend to go internal than external and it shows because it gets wordy.

* * *

Awareness suddenly strikes, it felt like he was being electrocuted awake and with a shuddering gasp, he opens his eyes. He's met the sight of a dark ceiling and the feel of cold concrete where he lies.

" _How?"_ the rasp that was his voice had him flinching, from surprise or from the pain it gives him as he speaks after being silenced for so long.

Despite the risk of whiplash and a headache, he jerked his left then right wanting to see if it was the same stone cold wall of his cell for—he can't remember how many days? Weeks? _**Months?**_ How long has it been since he was brought into captivity by that- by that **_cowar_ _d_** —the duration of his imprisonment, though he knows in his mind that it is not the cell?

The smell gave it away.

Though it was nothing like that acrid smell of the cellar Grindelwald had so generously thrown and shackled him in, it neither carried the sterile smell of a hospital nor the scent of wet soil that he's come to miss.

It was—

There were—

To be blunt, it was an almost indescribable smell. But it the smell of freedom.

But not the one he wants.

It reminded him of _death._

Desperate all of a sudden, he moved. He pulled himself up through sheer desperation and anger.

 _Again._

 _He needs to check again._

( _Because he can't be— He still needs to— His men need—_ )

Like the caged man he was, he frantically took in his surroundings.

( _Nonononononononono_ )

 **Nothingness.**

His shoulders tensed.

Up above he looked craning almost forcing his neck too far and still—

 **Nothingness.**

He sagged into himself.

A great blackness ruled the sky.

Deep in his bones, he can feel it.

Looking up was the abyss.

Looking around was the abyss.

 _No._

Forcefully centering himself and letting out a harsh sigh, _no_.

He tore his eyes forward.

It was not the abyss, not completely, he conceded.

After all, there was the floor he's sitting on. And if this were the abyss, why was he on solid ground then? The jagged edge of the ground in front of him finally registers and it is telling.

A harsh sound that could have been a laugh tinged with hysteria.

A cliff.

 _Of course._

Perhaps below was where the abyss he feared lurked.

" _Where!?" He growls, wanting nothing more than dig and claw at the solid stone. But he was still only human. He ignores that there is no pain as he forced his hand harder on the ground, no creak of bones and joint as he kept pushing against the hard surface._

He was so focused on ignoring that missing sensation he _almost_ didn't hear the whisper behind him.

"... Where?"

He turned too fast, almost toppling over at the sound of that soft voice.

A boy stood behind him and peered curiously at him. Pale as death with a facsimile of confusion painted on the, admittedly, appealing, _young_ face.

They stared at each other, even if the position was awkward for him. His eyes never left the solemn eyes of the boy.

They must have made quite the picture. On one side of the stare down, a disheveled and ragged man with a beaten body but persisting spirit dressed torn robes backed by an empty dark space that could be abyss but wasn't. On the other, a lost looking boy with a blue jacket and dark pants, no shoes though only a pair of gray socks and finally, a red shirt, so bright, that it almost seemed out of place in contrast of the solemn air he projected, almost dwarfed by the sheer size of the eerie archway behind him. It had rag covering that swayed back and forth, the lack of wind not deterring its admittedly ghastly dance.

Eventually, though, the boy grew disinterested with him and broke eye contact to raise a sleeve covered hand ( _the jacket looked like it was a size too large for the boy and very bulky, it covered half of his hand with no problem_ ) and bit on the cuff as the boy looked at their surroundings.

It's what snaps him back to some semblance of reason.

"Who?" His voice is still scratchy though progressively better than earlier. It also stings less.

Slowly, almost reptilian like, the boy blinked. And blinked again like he had trouble processing his questions and again with infuriatingly slowness the boy turned back to look at him, head titling just enough that it was more apparent that he had to look down on him. It annoyed him because he was not used to being looked down on, least of all by lost children.

"Me?" It was galling enough that the boy had to ask that and all with his jacket's cuff still in his mouth but he knew, just _knew_ it, that that boy was playing dumb.

"Who _else?_ " he snaps, before he let out a large sigh and ran a hand down his face.

He usually has more self-control and would have no problem playing the game the boy decided to play and eventually turn it to his favor. Captivity has done no favors with it and his temper.

"It's rude to demand for my name when you've yet to give yours," the boy said frowning and looking so genuinely offended, he almost believed it had it not been for the afterthought he added, "Sir."

He looks at the boy again, face calm, sleeve still caught between his teeth.

" _What?"_ Incredulity seeped into his tone because for all of the things the boy fixates on, it's that!

"I'm not telling until you introduce yourself," the boy finally freed the sleeve, only to cross his arms and look away; looking like the perfect picture of a brat that won't budge until he has what he wants.

"Like you don't already know!" He snarled so viciously. He sighed.

And there, his temper reared its head again. It wasn't helping his case to think tha—"Perhaps, but for formalities sake. Mother always says: it is appropriate and polite to introduce yourself than just assuming."

The boy shot him another dirty look before looking away again as he left him speechless. His jaw floundered, he was not sure how he wanted to continue and his anger just melted away.

"My name," He eventually found his voice and tried speaking again; at the rasping sound of it, the boy turned an eye at him though he had yet to face him again. Slowly, since it didn't hurt as much if he spoke slower, and syllable by syllable, almost dragging it with a gnarled and rusted hook from the back of his throat, he introduced himself with some semblance of bravado and firmness that he usually does, "is Percival. Percival Graves, Director of MACUSA's Department of Magical Security."

"Mister Percival Graves." He almost bristled at how the boy said his name. He was—it wasn't like he was tasting his name and how it fell out of his mouth as he spoke but it was a near thing. He sounded like he was being factual and questioning all at once and again it was said in such a damningly slow manner.

"Or would you prefer Director?" the boy asked again but obvious with his tone that he wasn't really looking for an answer.

So, Graves didn't speak and again they held each other's gaze. It was an eternity in its own right but the boy eventually seemed to find what he was looking for as he nodded. What it was he was actually looking for? He doesn't know, he does know a great weight was suddenly left him as soon as the boy stopped giving his complete focus on him.

"—ath."

"'Scuse me?" He snapped, startled out of his thoughts.

The boy was just amused. Finding him to be so amusing, that he was out of his depth. Maybe he wasn't that different from Grindelwald in that regard, reveling in the feeling of causing so much co—

"I'm only answering your earlier question, Mister Director," This time, the voice cut faster through his racing, raging thoughts. This time, the boy's voice and tone did not grate on his nerves as much even though he can detect that tinge of amusement that laced his tone.

"You asked 'where?' although," The boy reached a half-covered hand up and let his pointer finger rest against his cheek with eyes wide with, well he'll assume it's fake, wonder, tilting his head to the side again as he mused, "I suppose you weren't really expecting an answer since you were still busy," he doesn't really finish his sentence, only flapping both hands a bit as he trailed off.

"Anyway," The boy _honed_ in on him, there was no other word to describe it and he can't help but tense even though he was under his scrutiny earlier. "Like I said, if you'd pay attention, we are just beyond the threshold of The Veil."

"The... Veil..?" His forehead wrinkled as he tried to work out where he heard the name before.

* * *

"— _addison was telling me all about it!"_

" _Sounds..."_

" _Like a load of nundu dung?"_

" _Well. You said it, not me."_

" _Ha, ha. Shove off, Perce."_

" _Hey—can't take a joke? But, in all honesty. It sounds really dangerous."_

" _Yeah, well. S'why the Unspeakbles're the only ones that're authorized to meeessssss with it. No one really knows what it does."_

" _And they think that studying this veil is a good idea."_

" _Eh, well. It's like things go in but no one knows where it pops out. I mean. Nothing's been spat out from our side of the Veil. Yet."_

" _It sounds like a migraine."_

" _Eh, dunno 'bout you Perce but look on the bright side."_

" _What bright side? And quit hogging that! Order your own drink."_

" _Touchy. Touchy ponce. And I mean, and I dunno how they did, but the thing's in the Ministry, yeah? Think of all the ways it could go to hell if it were in, I dunno? In the middle of a muggle park or in Hogwarts?"_

" _Hmm, just thinking about it gives me a headache. Security must be hell."_

" _I know right? Like, there are just so many ways it can go wrong. At least with the Unspeakables it's in a relatively safe."_

" _Wasn't there an accident?"_

" _Oh. That. Yeah. One of the suspects for the Richardson's case gave the newbie watching him a slip. A real slippery resourceful fellow too. Somehow, and the security's been upped since then mind, he made it to the Veil's room and thought he could hide there. But the boys were on his tail, see, and saw him enter the room and well. Eh, there was a lot of tumbling and a lot of people got tackled. We got the bastard. But just before they could fully restrain the fellow he pushed one of the boys through the Veil. And just like that, we had to file—"_

* * *

" _The Veil of Death."_ He breathed.

They were—

That means—

 _No—_

He stared at his fist, he wasn't aware ( _and that's not good at all. He's no use if his attention keeps lapsing,_ ) that in his frustration that he was pounding his fist against the floor in frustration.

"I can't be," He wasn't too proud to acknowledge, even to himself, that he sounded weak. Pitiful. But it wasn't begging, not yet it wasn't.

If _Grindelwald,_ that thrice damned pitiful excuse for a man that was so far into his own ass that he was honestly surprised that the man wasn't spewing literal shit out of his mouth ( _it would have made things harder, no doubt for that—that_ _but he's the type of man persistent and charismatic enough that there would still be people who'd buy into his shit_ ), couldn't make Graves beg, even with all his machinations, mind games and torture; he won't allow _this_ to break him either.

"Huh," Graves' eyes snapped back to the boy as he huffed out that quiet laugh, the boy had one hand on his hip, the other twirling a lock of his messy hair.

He shot the boy a dark look that led to more laughter.

"Such… passion. I suppose." The boy continued.

"What?" He snarled at the boy, voice failing halfway through the word.

"Hmm," the boy moved forward, soon he was smiling and crouching in front of Graves and suddenly there was a glass of water being offered to him. "Thirsty?"

He stared trying to find some form of malice, some form of trickery in the boy's eyes. There were none.

And yet.

He looked at the grinning face then the crystal glass with cool water and then back again to the face. Graves repeated it a few more times before sighing and shook his head. For all that his throat begged for water to soothe its burning, "Pass."

He said it all with all the distaste he could muster ( _and believe him when he says there is a lot_ ) but all the boy did was laugh, push himself up. The glass disappeared as he soon as he brought his hand down and clasped them behind his back, "Probably a good thing, Mister Director. Now," the boy clapped for emphasis and Graves jolted by the unexpected echo that came with it, "tell me Mister Director…"

He began circling Graves.

"…" Graves made sure to watch him as the boy circled him, grim face getting grimmer.

"How… much would you give to, ah, get the chance to get back at that man Grindelwald?"

How much?

To have that smug bastard— _how much—_ caught.

To have the chance— _how much_ —for payback?

For that he'd… He would—

"… almost anything." He rasped in the end. Looking at his clenched fist and the skin bruised on his arms. He raised his head slowly, "I'd give just about anything to catch that bastard."

"Hu-hmm, so you say," Graves' eyebrow may have given the slightest twitch at that and the boy stopped in front of him, hands still clasped behind him, "Grindelwald is quite the character, no?"

Graves snorted in derision, "One way to put it."

The boy smiled, though it was more like baring teeth, "Yes. He also has a bad habit of looking into things he really shouldn't, wanting things he has no business wanting."

Wary now, Graves just watched him.

"I suppose it shouldn't be too surprising." The boy wasn't looking at him anymore, having moved his gaze towards the blank expanse in front of them, subsequently turning his back to Graves as well, he can see how his hands fiddled with his sleeves. "Especially given the company he used to keep and the things that catch his interest," the boy sighed, with undercurrent of distaste surrounding his otherwise dry tone.

"You know…" The boy began, turning to look at Graves again, "I'm sure, it will be quite a sight. And very entertaining."

"…what?" He really shouldn't be getting distracted from more pressing matters. But the boy was insistent with keeping his attention.

"If you get the chance, I mean," he continued like Graves never interrupted him, "watching you hunt Grindelwald, without the slightest shadow of doubt, will be extremely entertaining…" the boy ended it with a sigh that could almost be considered dreamy and the very air around them seemed to quiver with agreement and _want_ , the kind of want that just feels it'll explode into vindictive glee.

And sure Graves wanted to take Grindelwald down, it'd be a herculean task but, if he gets the chance to do it, he was certain he won't be the only person on that manhunt. But…

"…too late for that."

The kid blinked again and made a little noise, "Ah, yes. That." Like it was little more than a minor inconvenience.

"—that can easily be fixed."

… _what._

The boy smiled-smirked. "As I've said. The thought of Grindelwald being hunted amuses me so."

"Entertainment—"

"And really, Mister Director, it's not really your time and I do tend to have the final say in matters like yours."

The air quivered again though this time it seemed to convey unhappiness and something almost like when a child was sulking. And it was just heavy there in the air. But even without the pressure, Graves thought he wouldn't be able to speak. The air was just out of his lungs.

Because that means—

There was a chance—

"So the question now Mister Director," And the boy read him and was smug, like he didn't just imply—

"Is if you _want_ to go back?" He ends it with one hand extended towards Graves.

He looks on, patiently but not exactly expectant. And Graves is left in the mess that was his thoughts once more. That. Going back means a lot of things, a hell lot of implications. But the things he could get done. Things he needed to do. Things he wanted to do, had to do. Grindelwald won't know _what_ hit him.

"Is that—Is that even a question worth _asking?_ " He practically spat at the boy, glee and spite warring in him at his chance and he grabbed the offered hand.

"You'd be surprised how many people say no." There was the slightest bit of shoulder shrugging from the boy after he pulled Graves up. "Be sure to tell Mister Scamander, ah," he pauses when Graves jerked at the familiar name, "Newton, that is, the younger one, that it has been a while, which is good. And that I do so hope it will be decades before I see him again." He finished with an innocent smile, moving to the side.

And suddenly.

It seems like that eerie archway with the raggedy curtains loomed over both of them.

In all of it's pale, chipping, cold glory.

It was like someone was calling to him. Calling his name.

A step.

Then two on aching legs. The-the strips of _rags_ suddenly stopped its dance, instead, it was blowing forward to beckon and caress him, tempting him to crossover to the other side.

Back to _life_.

Another step forward.

But.

Before he steps through the Veil he can't help but turn back to the boy and ask, because as unsettling this entire ordeal may be, Grave's curious.

"Are you Death?" He whispered, not sure if he was scared about the answer.

The boy blinked slowly again and, slowly as well, an amused smile stole across the boyish features. With something wry dancing his tone, just as an invisible wind suddenly rushed forward, surrounding and pushing him towards the maw of the Veil, as verdant eyes suddenly glowed and radiated in the dark that sent a jolt through him because they suddenly reminded him of the Killing Curse he answered.

"Not yet."

* * *

Graves woke up again, and this time to the sun beaming down his face, practically scorching his poor eyes, cheek cushioned by mud. He lay there, on his left side this time, his mind muddled again. The sun's warm beams became too much eventually and he turned to lie on his stomach, the scent of the cool, fresh earth.

He breathed it in.

And was throwing himself to his feet, failing and ultimately ending on his shaking knees. Grass. Green, green grass greeted him as he tried to control his breathing, as he tried to get enough strength to get up.

He pushed himself up and tucked his legs beneath him and though his hands were still shaking as he put his weight on them, trusting himself that they were strong enough to support him. He allowed his gaze to roam.

Green trees and grass and the great blue sky with streaks of white clouds greeted him. His eyes stung as he breathed in deeply.

 _Freedom._

He let out the breath he was holding. He was free.

But...

' _This is just the beginning. There's work to be done.'_ Distantly, he's aware that he didn't ask what the catch was.

There was always a catch. Was he meant to just live on borrowed time from now on? In fear of when the reaper will come knocking to his door.

Will it be peaceful in sleep? Or, one day, will be home to find Death waiting in his home?

He was pulling at the grass and only became aware of it thanks to the sting of the cuts on his palms. He let go of it and turned his palm to observe the cuts. His hand was muddy, dirty and bleeding.

 _It stung._

 _It was real._

Then again, he could die happily knowing Grindelwald was gone from the face of the Earth as well. It was a good enough of a tradeoff. Freedom and life, even if it had a ticking time limit he's not aware of, to hunt and hopefully ruin that man.

The sight of his cut palm captivated him enough that he was startled out of the trance by a shout.

"DIRECTOR GRAVES!"

Immediately it was followed by even more shouts and cracks and the multiple feet pounding closer to where he sat.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** A little late since I'm trying to update around the 20-25th of every month. Also a second chapter! I forgot to ever mention that this actually takes place post-movie. So the part where Graves found himself free was sometime after the movie. Just know that some time has passed. This was also supposed to include a 4 or 5 +1 thing about Newt but this can stand alone without it and so far I only have one scenario written down anyway, what does scenarios are about? ** _Here's a hint:_** It has something to do with what Graves and Newt talk about. I think it will be _obvious_.

 **AN:** I have another Fantastic Beasts fic in the works but it'll take a while to be posted. Just know it's a mostly canon compliant AU, so Graves missing, Grindelwald playing with MACUSA and their Aurors will happen. Credence would mostly likely still be alive though just really, really lost after the events of the movie. Though I admit he might only have a minor cameo because I'm really torn on something that has to do with the story's premise. I'm trying to make that into just one long one-shot.

 **AN:** I've also updated 'A Reprieve of Sorts'.

 **AN:** Also no update 'It's a Relative Thing' just yet. I need to finish Chapter 7 before I can get started on Chapter 6, so it might take a while. IaRT's plot is less concrete than 'A Reprieve of Sorts.' But I think it ARoS is easier to write because the plot is definitely less confusing, as a result easier to write even with the more detailed notes I have for IaRT.

 **AN:** And lastly, I honestly don't know when I'll be able to **update ** again. I recently got a job so I'll be a busy bee and will mostly likely be too drained to write anything on most days. As it is since the past few days were so hectic I'm not able to properly go through everything. So any mistakes are mine and feel free to tell me any of the errors, like me not spotting an incomplete sentence/thought.

But that doesn't mean I'll stop writing. I might just update everything every other month? We'll all see. So, I hope you all enjoy reading!

* * *

It took a while for Graves to officially meet Newt Scamander.

He caught glimpses of the elusive and reclusive Scamander now and then when the man visits either Goldstein sister at Woolworth, not to mention Theseus had popped by the hospital to nag, whine and sob at him in equal measure after he was found.

Spotting Newton Scamander was something like chasing a figment of his imagination. Always catching flashes of blue from the corner of his eyes, but whenever he turned to look more directly, he was gone.

Eventually serendipity happened.

To be a little more precise, they met around lunch time during the middle of a rather slow week, just shy of seven months after he was found to have seemingly clawed his way from somewhere along the Delaware riverbank.

He was about to head out for lunch when they met.

"Mister Scamander," Graves greeted the Magizoologist when they accidentally ran into each other. Quite literally. Graves was able to balance himself and keep upright, Scamander was not lucky and fell. In fact, he scrambled after his case when he dropped it all but crawling after it. It was a short whirlwind of flailing limbs.

"Director Graves," Scamander weakly replied from where he was tightly hugging his case, "Sorry about that. Didn't, ah. Didn't see you there."

"It's fine Mister Scamander," He says, offering a hand to the frazzled man, "It is my fault as well."

The younger wizard took the proffered hand, one arm still curled protectively around his case, eyes averted.

"Here to visit Auror Goldstein?" Graves asked, moving closer to the wall so that he wasn't blocking the way, it was a common enough courtesy in MACUSA. Gently pulling the frazzled wizard by his elbow when he made no move to get out of the way (there were always someone rushing to somewhere).

"Ah well. No. I mean, yes." Scamander was shiftily looking left and right, "I just saw her. I was on my way out. Might've gotten lost." He finishes, laughing weakly.

"Ah, I was on my way out as well. I would be delighted if you could accompany me to lunch?" Scamander was frantically nodding as his eyes roved around the hall before he finished speaking. Graves nodded, though he knew the other's attention was elsewhere.

There were many entrances and exits in their headquarters (many that only he knew as Head of Magical security. And thankfully, it was one of the secrets that Grindelwald was unable to pry from his mind. Not that the man tried to pry too deep. The bastard was too content and having a lot of fun subtly affecting the careers and lives of Graves' Aurors) he could choose from but given that his companion wasn't really an employee or a regular fixture around the office (though there were some whispers that Picquery was being courted to give the British Wizard a job offer of some sort. Personally, he thinks that would not be possible at all. There were a number of reasons supporting Graves' claim, the biggest one being Theseus).

Their trek outside was a silent one. Not necessarily awkward, it perhaps had something to do with the underlying hint of something frantic coming off in waves from the younger Scamander brother.

"Lose someone?" He casually asked. He got nervous laughter and more shifty looks in reply.

"Uh, maybe?" Scamander was biting at his nails. Graves sighed, disapproving of the action, Theseus had warned him of his brother's bad habit. It had also led to an unfortunate situation wherein his best friend more or less blackmailed Graves into checking in on his younger brother whenever he's marginally near, to help soothe Theseus' worries ( _he's sure that the worrywart had stocked one of his cupboards with some of that bitter salve his family used to get Newton to stop the habit_ ).

"I'm sure whoever it is will turn up eventually Mister Scamander." He says diplomatically, then side-eyeing the younger Scamander, "I would be infinitely thankful if your, ah, friend won't cause another incident. So grateful that I would be more than willing to overlook things."

"I—" Scamander tried to speak, floundering because a small grateful smile kept stealing over and over on his face. He just nodded in the end but the thanks was still plain to see in his eyes, "Thank you. Please. Call me Newt."

"Newt, then," Graves replies, sampling the name on his tongue, "please, call me Percival or Percy if you wish." It was a nickname the older Scamander started anyway. Though to also give Theseus it was also one of the nicer and less embarrassing ones that Theseus came up with.

"Percival," Newt said through a grin.

Their walk was more comfortable after that.

* * *

Graves took them to a No-Maj establishment, not wanting to run into anyone unpleasant just yet. And it was only a small matter to erect low-grade privacy wards after ordering and being served their meal so that they may speak freely.

Conversation started as out stilted, awkward because of the Grindelwald shaped specter hanging over them. But once they got on a more neutral topic, Theseus and his antics mostly, it became easier.

It was after Newt recounted Theseus' latest attempt to get out of their father's matchmaking attempt when Graves decided that it was best to talk about their mutual, ah, acquaintance.

"So…" Graves began while Newt was occupied with the pasta he ordered. "I believe we share a common acquaintance."

"Mrmphf?" Newt said through his pasta, Graves gave him a displeased and disappointed look that cowed the Magizoologist a bit (making sure that Newt doesn't end up dying while eating was part of the duties Theseus gave him after he came back and it was obvious that Newt would keep popping in New York) that he swallowed his mouthful before trying again, "I mean, uh. Acquaintance? Tina's my friend. Queenie too. And, ah, there were the other's who were extremely apologetic after Grindelwald's exposure. But I, _uh_ , don't think you can hardly call your colleagues as acquaintances," He finished laughing then blinked asking nervously, "Uh, can you?"

"Hardly," Graves replied, absentmindedly shooing a persistent mosquito. He put down his utensils and leaned on his interlocked fingers, "I know all of my men. Their habits and vices, it made being replaced unnoticed sting," he shrugged off Newt's sympathetic look, "It's fine. It gives me reason to run them to the grounds with practice and drills."

Newt looked concerned, with a small amount of horror mixed in. He was probably worried for Goldstein. Graves waved of Newt's worry again. "Don't worry, it's a good thing. Grindelwald ruined their training regimes, they have a lot of catching up to do. Auror Goldstein, in particular, looks ecstatic whenever I run drills. Especially when she ends up taking down her duel partner." Which was frequent, she had a lot of... _energy_ to burn out.

"Ah…" was all Newt could say about that, "Then if you do not mind, Percival. I'm lost. Who is this common acquaintance that you speak of? It can't be Professor Dumbledore, can it?"

"Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore, you mean?" Graves asked, fiddling with his fork, "No, I'm afraid not. I never met the man, though I've read some of the papers he has published." He finished, dropping the for in favor of taking a sip of his ordered drink.

"Ah, yes," Newt smiled, "I've read them too, very well-thought." Then his brows furrowed, "If not the Professor, who is our mutual acquaintance?"

"Well… giving a name is nigh-impossible and though, I suspect that perhaps you know. Meeting him was such an unsettling and unbelievable experience. It happened in such a… _stressful_ time for me, so I can't really go about explaining it clearly…" Graves sighed, pursing his lips for a moment and ignoring the wide-eyed curious look Newt sent over his glass.

"The best that I can do is this," Graves straightened up and looked even more severe than he usually did ever since coming back, "Our mutual acquaintance wanted me to, ah, send his regards, I suppose. To tell you that it has been a while since the two of you have been in each other's company, which is a good thing. And that he hopes it will be decades will pass before he gets see you again. Of course, that is nowhere near verbatim but it that is what he meant."

"I…" Newt's eyebrows rose and fell in intervals as he tried to puzzle out what Graves meant. Graves could see the moment Newt figured it out. The Magizoologist paled and let go of the fork he was holding, "O-oh _my…!_ Do you mean—?"

Graves just nodded and took another sip of his drink. "Yes."

It was silent again, Graves continued eating and Newt joined him again soon enough, though he was more subdued and looked thoughtful. When both of their plates were cleared they stared at each other.

Newt was the one to break the silence, "I never thought I'd meet another person who essentially meet Death."

"Not yet." When Newt made a questioning noise, Graves elaborated, "I was curious and I asked." He shrugged. "He answered and said that he wasn't Death, not yet at least."

"Huh," Newt leaned back, "I see. It must've definitely been an experience."

"Indeed," Graves smiled blankly.

"Ah…" Newt deflated as something shifted in his eyes, "B-but... That would mean…" He trails off and Graves had to raise an eyebrow to get him to continue.

"That means when Grindelwald…"

"Hm-hmm." Graves says, dropping the enchantment long enough to signal a server for another glass of his drink and the check.

"You…"

"Go on," Graves nodded his thanks to the server and once again raised the privacy wards.

"You died…" Newt looked so sad by the revelation.

"I did." Graves allowed the somber silence to envelope them for a short while before snorting, catching Newt's attention.

"Then again, it is to my understanding that you have as well," Sending a dry look at Newt who looked like he was only realizing what it meant that they have met someone who's not yet Death, "And it's implied that you've met with him several times already."

"Aha. _Ha-ha-ha_ …" Newt was embarrassed and slid down his seat so that his coat seemed to swallow him. "Well—ah…"

* * *

Lunch became a common affair between them after that. They talked about everything and nothing. Becoming an odd confidant for each other because of the odd experience they both went through at some point.

Some of Graves' colleagues and subordinates were left in wonder where their sudden friendship came from. Queenie Goldstein, in particular, scrutinized it doubly ( _Graves thanks his stars that he was more than adept at Occluding his mind that she can't pry anything from him without being accused of violating Graves' privacy. Plus Newt also being fairly good at it after he encountered that one Siren-like creature near Vietnam that liked to plant suggestion in its victim's mind though he does admit that he was completely unaware of Queenie Goldstein's gift when he first came and as such, his guard was relaxed. Newt says he trust Queenie but he still likes his privacy and has discussed it with her_ ).

However, since they both really want to keep the 'having died came back to life bit' to themselves, they merely pointed to the experience that was Theseus Scamander and everyone who asked understood.

People looked like they wanted to smack themselves for not thinking of that immediately before moving on when they pointed it out.

And so, their friendship was largely uncontested.

( _And while Newt became a more semi-permanent fixture in Woolworth because of their friendship, he never became an official consultant. He never stayed long enough for it and Picquery didn't make any moves or gave an indication that she was going to offer anything to Newt. Which was good because there was one time he brought it up with Newt and the Magizoologist laughed and sunk further into his coat.)_

* * *

 **AN:** Actually before I leave, I just want to say something about a review a received for IaRT, it was a very valid criticism, I suppose, but I've long since made peace that not everyone will like what I write and some may even 'vocalize' it. I get that IaRT may be too wordy and dry even, my own fault really but it was the way I felt the story should be written. That story's pace will be slow and seem like it's distracting and avoiding anything happening because—well, I did say I was trying a third-person limited POV that had slightly a stream of consciousness flow. I'm trying to make the drag be less apparent but honestly, that story has a different style/format and premise compared to others I've written, as a result, the style of it's written and told is affected. 'Til next time!


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